


Nymphadora

by carloabay



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, First Meetings, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Werewolf Discrimination, unemployment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:22:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25998970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carloabay/pseuds/carloabay
Summary: Tonks likes that smile.
Relationships: Remus Lupin/Nymphadora Tonks, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 4
Kudos: 34





	Nymphadora

**Author's Note:**

> The first and second times that Tonks and Remus meet.
> 
> Sorry it's not great: it was in my docs and almost finished and I cAn'T sLeeP as per usual, so here :)

It was never this hard before. He used to have maybe two, three interviews, a suspicious glance at his medical records, and then a begrudging offer for a menial temporary job for a few months. Then he'd move on again, repeat the cycle: it had never been hard because it was a lifestyle, or had become one, over time.

He had hung around Godric's Hollow with James and Lily when the jobs ran out and he had to start looking again. He had played with little Harry on dim, monotonous days while he waited for owls, and Lily had made him tea and rubbed out the knots in his back and legs.

Sirius had taken him to Epping Forest every month, and every transformation without fail, he'd be waiting just beyond the trees with a pack full of firewood, blankets and food, and a Portkey straight to the warmth of a little apartment on the edge of Thornwood town. The table there, by the cushion-plump window seat, had been full of letters, and Sirius had read them aloud in silly voices until an acceptance reply had appeared, or until Remus had fallen asleep on his sturdy shoulder, at peace with the world.

But the end of the war brought cut-short interviews and harsh rejections to sidle in with the terrible pain of loss and betrayal and terror.

First it was, "You're not what we're looking for." Tentative, side-long. Remus cried behind his eviction letter and Lily's old baggy jumper.

Then, "I'm afraid you can't work here." Blocking, not welcoming any follow-up questions. Quickly ushered out. Remus cried behind a dirty bar with a washcloth in his hand and James' square glasses in his pocket.

Then it became, "We don't associate with people like you." Hateful and scared. Remus cried behind the door of a bed and breakfast bathroom, a trail of woodlice marching around his holey shoe and Peter's young squeal of laughter echoing in his head.

Soon enough it just turned to cut-off Floo calls or refusing to let him in the door, and Remus started to really feel the prejudice hanging over him, like every time he went for a job he had to fix a sign above his head saying, **Beware, werewolf**. He no longer cried, but he hid swollen eyes behind a coat sleeve and tried to hate Sirius, who was no longer there to hold his hand and turn his scars to buttery warmth with just that mad, dark glance.

His coat turned threadbare and his best robes grew holes. He ate terrible food, always only just enough to keep him going each day, and the full moons used all his energy for at least the next week and a half. His skin stretched over his ribs and his stomach distended, and he was always a little bit ill. A pale face and two days worth of stubble had him turned away even from interviews for Muggle jobs, but every day that he wasn't working, Remus put on his hat, his coat, and his best clothes underneath, and limped down the streets of London to the visitor entrance of the Ministry, or to the newspaper stands to look through the pages for Muggle job advertisements.

Today was moody and grey, with a hint of friction that threatened a thunderstorm from the scowling clouds, and the damp wormed its way through his thin clothes and settled into his bones. Remus tried to keep his smile light at every person he passed, practicing even now to seem friendly and helpful for the interview. It was one of his last straws: he was going to the Ministry's Public Information Services Office to ask around for any odd jobs that he could get paid for. He'd take just about anything, even manual labour, pretty much. Muggle painkillers didn't do much for magical afflictions, but he got by, if a little drowsily, and he reckoned he could take on pretty much any job, at a reasonable enough rate.

On the corner, the red phonebox glowed in the dim day, and as Remus stumped painfully past a woman sitting at the bus stop, she pulled her child closer to her and averted her eyes from him. He walked on, without the smile this time.

The phonebox seemed smaller than he remembered, and stuffier. Or maybe it was just the transformation thoughts from four days ago: the feeling of his bones stretching and his muscles ripping still fresh at the front of his mind. Remus closed the door behind him, shutting out the bright, harsh noise of Muggle London, and leant against the wall of the booth to catch his breath and his peace of mind: both a rarity these days.

As soon as he had a vague semblance of calm, he reached for the phone pad and typed in the numbers: 62442, with trembling, bone thin fingers. As soon as he had finished, he tugged his scrappy sleeves down over the tough scabs on his knuckles.

"Welcome to the Ministry of Magic," said the cool, robotic voice. It was like a balm to his car horn-blasted ears. "Please state your name and business."

"Remus Lupin. Visiting the Public Information Services Office for a job interview." His voice came out too cracked and too tired and too faint. Remus knitted his fingers together, unknitted them, and shifted from foot to foot. A pane of glass was missing from beside his head, and on the wall behind the phonebox, loud graffiti proclaimed an artist's tag, with pink and orange flowers blooming all around it. Even from the corner of his eye, Remus could taste the beautiful, obnoxious drawing in his line of sight.

"Please take your badge. Welcome, Visitor." _Kachink_ , and a silver badge rattled into the change tray, jarring his sensitive ears. Remus snatched it up and fixed it tidily to the threadbare lapel of his best robes, arranging it as straight as could be. The phonebox juddered and began to sink slowly into the ground, grinding unhappily against the rocky ground. The damp cloud-light of London disappeared with its cigarette littered pavements, and, as he had done every time before, Remus removed his hat gracefully and fixed his hair to one side, straight and water-combed and utterly professional. Not that it ever made a difference.

The crunching dark carried on for about sixty seconds, and then there came the light of the Ministry, illuminating first his father's spit-polished shoes, then his too-short trousers, then the mended hem of his robes, and on, and on. Remus shrugged out of his Muggle coat and took his deep, interview ready breath that rattled in his delicate chest, foreshadowing a phlegmy cough that he could feel coming on. He put his hat back on, slung his coat over his arm, steadied himself for the juddering bump of the landing phonebox, and reached for the handle of the door.

The phonebox spat him out in the middle of the Atrium, just before the huge fountain monument of the wizard-worshipping bronze creatures. Remus closed the door quietly behind him and walked past the fountain, watching the glitter of the coins in the water with something a little less than bitter envy. The stationary house elf ignored Remus and gazed lovingly at the sweeping-robed wizard, with his important hat and his smooth, chip-free wand, and Remus walked onwards towards the wand goblin.

"Name, please," said the goblin, not even looking up. Remus almost relished in the lack of a judging glance.

"Remus Lupin," he said.

"Back again, eh?" the goblin muttered, but it wasn't amused or spiteful. Just a little sympathetic. 

"Yes," Remus said politely, holding out his worn wand. The goblin huffed and took his wand, running it through the little machine, then let a yellowed parchment receipt run through their claws. They tore it off and pinned it onto a metal spike full of receipts, and handed Remus back his wand, then waved him on. Remus nodded his thanks, and made for the elevator.

It smelled overwhelmingly to Remus like perfume and aromatic potion smoke. People piled in after him: a harried Auror, a woman with her hood so low one could only see her square, purple-tattooed chin, a group of Law Enforcement Squadees who all gave Remus suspicious looks, a large man with a tender armful of puffy owlets, and a determined-looking girl with what looked like yellow smoke issuing from her robe pocket. In zipped a cloud of paper aeroplane memos, and Remus, used to being bustled about by now, pressed himself against the back wall as the latticed doors slammed closed. 

He had to wait a very long time, extremely conscious of the nervous Auror treading on his polished toes, but at least he didn't have to work his way impolitely through a crowd when the elevator voice proclaimed that he had reached Level One, as he was the only person still in the elevator. Remus took a second to tuck his hat under his arm, tip his chin up and straighten his badge, and then he walked purposefully out of the elevator, hoping that he looked for all the world like he was fitting in.

The Public Information Services Office kept him waiting even longer, and Remus nervously ground his heel into the plush carpet and smiled at passers-by. The wallpaper was a deep royal purple, and Remus's weary eye swept over it without catching on any scratches or chips or peeling bits that were commonplace at his flat.

The door opened with barely a well-oiled whisper, and a short warlock with a rather long and splendid yellow beard looked Remus up and down critically. The warlock was wearing odd socks and Muggle trainers underneath his robes, but Remus supposed he wasn't one to judge.

"Master Lupin?" the warlock rapped. Remus didn't correct his use of a prefix, but just smiled pleasantly.

"Yes, sir." His politeness did nothing to assuage the suspicion of the warlock, who narrowed his eyes and tucked his beard into a silver rope-like belt stretched around his wide middle.

"I've read your history, boy." The words simply bounced off of Remus's well-protected dignity, but the warlock kept speaking anyway, keeping a large and wary eye on Remus's hands, which were folded respectfully over his hat. "I'm afraid we don't take your kind at the Ministry." And they hadn't even owled to cancel. This had been Remus's last straw, and as the warlock began to shut his expensive, well-oiled door, something caused Remus to snap back. Something tired and sad and ill and faint.

"You took 'my kind' twelve years ago," he replied, just as the warlock's face began to disappear behind the wood. The door paused. "What changed?" he challenged. The warlock scowled, turning a strange shade of red.

"New regulations. More qualifications are needed. You don't meet our criteria."

"Yes, I do," Remus said mildly. Because he did meet their criteria. Every bit of it. He'd read every information pamphlet and employment newsletter and application form there was. Maybe if it had been someone else behind that door, he would have got the job, but apparently well-fed warlocks with splendid yellow beards had criteria of their own.

"Leave, before I call security," the warlock spluttered through the gap in the door, obviously very intimidated by Remus's thin arms and bruised eyes. And he slammed the door. Remus's ears rung with the shame of rejection and the loud noise.

He took longer than necessary to walk back to the elevator, letting the warmth of the corridor prepare him for damp, chilly, outside London. He ran his fingers along the brim of his perfectly creased hat, and kept his eyes on his smudged shoes as they pressed narrow imprints into the deep carpet. His coat swung ever so slightly over his elbow, and he held it tightly to his side, ignoring the pitying and misgiving glances that he was receiving.

Five metres to the elevator, and _wham_. Something small and solid hit Remus right in the sternum and he reeled backwards, lost his balance, and fell. His tired reflexes didn't register him hitting the floor, but they did allow him to tightly grip onto his hat and coat as he fell, and so he thumped into the soft carpet like a rigid broom handle.

Tonks hit the floor arse-first, and watched, as if in a terrible slow motion, the man she'd run into fall down, straight as a post, into the soft carpet. Her thick file burst open, scattering bits of parchment into the air like yellowed wedding confetti, and the man sat up, his hair ruffled and a bemused and faintly cross expression on his face. Someone veered around them, not stopping to help, and the two of them stayed there for a second, hanging in a limbo within their strange, mishappening shared stare.

Then Tonks found her senses and stumbled to her hands and knees, yammering apologies and scrabbling for her confetti documents in the carpet. The man blinked wearily for a second and Tonks cringed, expecting a nasty word and a promise to report her, but he just slowly, gracefully unfolded himself and started to help her pick up her scattered parchment.

"It's quite alright," he said mildly, cutting her off. "I wasn't looking out for human bulldozers." Tonks blinked, trying to work out if he was joking or quietly annoyed. But he just looked...tired. Then he smiled, and it looked rare, like he had no smile lines, but plenty of frown creases. It was kind of hopeful, half-hiding behind politely lowered eyes, and Tonks had to chew her tongue to avoid grinning back like an idiot. 

She looked at him properly, and her first thought was that his robes would give her mother a heart attack. Shabby, worn, and anciently out of fashion, but they were precisely mended and carried a certain careful charm. A little like the man, really. Roughly shaggy hair, a pale, ill face, but straight back and friendly and holding out Tonks' parchment in a tidy pile.

"Thanks," she mumbled, shoving them haphazardly back into the file. "Um, I suppose you'll be wanting my name?" The man looked bemused, again.

"Only if you're giving it out," he answered, and Tonks stared at him, momentarily thrown. She _had_ meant to give him her name in case he wanted to find her superior and give them a piece of his mind, but obviously this worn, quiet man had no intention of that.

"Tonks," she blurted, after realising that she'd been goggling rudely at him for quite some time now. She shifted her pile of papers into the crook of one elbow and stuck her hand out bluntly. "Uh, Nymphadora. Tonks. Nice to meet you." She blushed when he shook her hand firmly, and hid it behind her rapidly pink-ing hair. Nice to meet you? She'd just bloody well knocked him for six, and all she could say was _nice to meet you_?

"That's an unusual name," he murmured, and Tonks chewed on the inside of her cheek. "I am Remus Lupin." Odd. Stiff. Cute name, though. Cute name for a cute face.

"Uh, um, what are you- what are you doing here?" she managed, tripping fantastically over her words. God _damn_. How much worse could this get?

"Looking for a job," he replied politely. "Unfortunately, I've been turned down." Then he looked away, like he hadn't meant to divulge that much information. Tonks snorted, a frown forming.

"From Pisso? Really? What'd you do, kill someone?" She'd been half-joking, but Remus Lupin's face turned greyer and stonier, and she blinked and took an involuntary step back. "Uh... _did_ you kill someone?"

But then the bemused mask was back on again, and Remus Lupin shook his head slowly.

"No, no. Much more complicated, I'm afraid. If you'll excuse me-" and he gestured down the hall towards the elevator, making a move to step around Tonks and keep walking. His hair was ruffled, still, from the fall, rather nicely, and Tonks, for some wicked reason, stepped into his way again. Clumsily.

"Well, before you go, check down in International Records, Level Five. Dare say they'll have a job for you." What on earth had made her say that? Maybe it was the smile she wanted to see again. Maybe it was just the notion that Remus Lupin was someone she'd rather not let go of just yet. But it was too bloody late, she'd gone and run her mouth, and Tonks squeezed her eyes shut in embarrassment. "Sorry-"

"Thank you," he interrupted, and her eyes sprang open again. He put his hat on his head and teasingly tipped it towards her, and then he turned to leave, and Tonks gawked after him. "Until we meet again, Nymphadora," he said over his shoulder. She didn't correct him. How could she, when her name sounded so lovely coming from his stranger's mouth?

∆

The next time Tonks met Remus Lupin was three years later, and the second she saw him, she tripped over her own laces, swore indelicately in shock, and thumped into Moody's hard arms.

"Thanks, mate," she said, disentangling herself. "Coulda handled it myself. Hi, Lupin." Moody glared between them with his wit-sharp eye.

"You two know each other?" he growled suspiciously.

"We've met," Remus Lupin said, and his voice was just as lovely as she remembered. "Hello, Nymphadora." Behind her, Bill Weasley held back an ungentlemanly snort, and Tonks ducked away from Molly's furious glare as Bill choked silently on his own tongue for a second.

"You ever get that job?" she asked politely, ignoring all the incredulous eyes on them. Lupin's sharp green gaze swept from her face to her boots, and then he smiled, just as sweet as she remembered.

"I still have it, thank you." There was a _wham_ of a door hitting a wall, a slap of feet on the flagged kitchen floor, and Tonks turned, startled. All of a sudden, Sirius Black had his arms around her with a loud and raucous shout of, "Dora!" and Tonks stumbled back a few steps, her cousin still clasped around her.

"Wotcher, Sirius," she mumbled, muffled by his shoulder and not best pleased at the interruption. They'd seen each other only two days prior, whereas Lupin she hadn't seen for _years_. But it wasn't all bad; Lupin had that rare smile still on his face, and Tonks decided she quite liked it. Just as she remembered.

∆

"Do you remember when we first met?" Remus asked, three months later, drawing lazy circles on her bare shoulder with one soft fingertip.

"How could I forget?" Tonks replied, softly, shivering under his touch. "You called me Nymphadora, you swine."

"Nymphadora," Remus growled, deep and sweet. He lowered his head to press a kiss to her skin, and Tonks sighed, slipping her fingers into his hair. She liked it better fluffed up. "Nymphadora," he groaned against her collarbone, and a thrill of electricity shot down her spine.

"Say that again," she hissed, closing her eyes and letting her head fall back.

"Nymphadora," he sighed, like he was worshipping her. His mouth travelled lower and lower, until Tonks forgot everything except how her name sounded in his mouth and how his lips brushed across her skin.

∆

"I, Remus Lupin, take you, Nymphadora Tonks, to be my lawfully wedded wife. In sickness and in health..." God, his voice was beautiful. And that rare smile. Just as she remembered.

**Author's Note:**

> I rated this T because kinda sexy times but not really and idrk


End file.
